


Darling, I Know It's Getting Late

by Derry Rain (smakibbfb)



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Early career researcher au?, Established Relationship, M/M, incredibly domestic, not sure how to classify this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:20:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26746507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smakibbfb/pseuds/Derry%20Rain
Summary: In which Thomas Jopson is nervous about his first Proper Conference and Edward Little is endlessly enamoured.
Relationships: Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little
Comments: 18
Kudos: 28
Collections: The Joplittle Fall Fic Exchange 2020





	Darling, I Know It's Getting Late

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sithmarauder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sithmarauder/gifts).



> This was supposed to be hurt/comfort, but I suppose... it's emotional hurt/comfort?

The water is on the edge of too hot and Edward hisses in surprised pleasure when he steps in, sinks down in the tub. There’s a light scent of something peppery in the water, and a low lift of bubbles which part where his skin meets the surface. He leans back, already feeling the knots of the day begin to unwind in the steam.

“You’re too good to me,” he says out loud, eyes closed. There is a pleased harrumph from somewhere above him and a warmth that has nothing to do with the bathwater starts to spread delicately, deliciously through the final knot, the one lodged deeper in than any physical strain.

“I know,” Thomas replies, and Edward can hear the quirked smile in his words.

“And for me,” he adds.

“Undoubtedly.”

There is a shift of movement to his side, and Edward feels, rather than sees, Thomas kneel down at the side of the bath. Strong, firm, _gentle_ fingers brush the hair back from his face, carding through locks that he knows are already beginning to grey, tracing the line of an old scar. He leans in to the touch, all but purring at the contact. Thomas laughs and crooks his fingers, scratching lightly, as if petting a favourite hound.

“We’ve got to be out early tomorrow,” Thomas says, entirely too matter of factly for Edward’s current relaxation. He cracks one eye open, squinting in the dim bathroom light. Thomas looks entirely unrepentant. His fingers continue their soft, soothing motions. If Edward wasn’t so thoroughly on the road to bliss, he would probably be frowning by now. As it stands, he’s not sure if he remembers how to.

“It’s a long drive even before we get to the ferry,” Thomas says, cheerfully, “and I’m not getting stuck on the road.”

Edward has a sudden uncharitable thought.

“Is this,” he lifts a hand and waves at the bath, the candles, the fresh towels gently heating on the rack, “a bribe?” Thomas merely smiles.

“Six sharp,” he says, and drops a kiss to Edward’s forehead. Edward lets out a pointed sigh that Thomas merrily ignores. “You promised.” Edward isn’t at all sure that that sounds like something he would do, but Thomas has always been an honest man. If not an entirely guile-free one.

Thomas stands, and deftly brushes the bubbles that Edward has not quite accidentally splashed onto his shirt off onto the plush bathmat. He briefly considers doing it again, but right now, he can see that Thomas’ clothing is fastidiously neat; Edward knows that this means that he has once again scheduled a late video meeting, and likely with the man they were both going to see tomorrow, early, so Thomas can finish preparing the presentation Edward knows he’s already completed and rehearsed several times, before the following day’s conference.

Sometimes Edward wonders if Crozier remembers that Thomas no longer works for him, at least, not directly. He shuffles further down in the bath until the tips of his whiskers prickle in the glossy bubbled surface.

“I love you,” Thomas tells him. Edward fights the urge to stick his tongue out at the younger man.

“Go away,” he grumbles, without any kind of intent, and douses his head.

When he comes back up, Thomas is gone, and he can already hear the whirring of his ancient laptop struggling to wake up in the living room.

***

As it turns out, they’re on the road at half past six and Edward is still chasing the last of his second cup of coffee on his tongue. There’s another one steaming quietly in the cupholder in the car, next to Thomas’ undrunk tea. An already steady patter of rain is tapping on the windshield, echoed in the drumming of Thomas’ fingers against the steering wheel. He peers anxiously at the sky.

“The weather might be better when we get to the ferry,” Edward offers, without really believing it. He’s unsurprised when he receives nothing but a raised eyebrow in return. They’ve both seen the forecast. It’s the reason why Thomas is still brushing his sleeve free of crumbs from the emergency stress-relieving breakfast pastry Edward had retrieved from the freezer that morning. Not for the first time, Edward feels a pang of guilt for taking the job that meant Thomas had moved so far away from his networks, his colleagues.

“Come on, Tom. We’re a day early anyway.”

“Hmm.”

Edward suppresses a smile at the grumpy moue of Thomas’ lips. It’s not so much that Thomas is a perfectionist, but _Thomas is an absolute perfectionist_ and Edward knows him well enough to know that he’s distinctly put out by the fact that he has absolutely no control over what the weather is doing. “Crozier won’t mind,” he says, “you know that.”

Some bright yellow car zooms by, far too fast, far too close, next to them and Thomas swears loudly at it. Edward rubs the heel of his hand into his temple. He’d hoped it was going to be slightly longer before it was going to turn into one of those journeys.

The third coffee is blissfully bitter on his tongue.

An almost peaceful three hours pass before the storm really opens. Edward peers out through the windscreen and can barely see the lights of the cars in front. He grimaces, and pops another Werther’s Original into his mouth. Though he doesn’t move his head, Thomas’ mouth opens, and Edward obligingly leans over and places a sweet into it.

“Thank you,” Thomas says. It comes out _thnkyu._ He still looks unhappy, but there’s more of a determination in his face now, even as he stares out at the slowly worsening weather. Edward’s heart hurts a bit. He hates to see Thomas disappointed and Thomas is surely about to be very badly disappointed. Glancing quickly sideways at the white-knuckled grip of Thomas’ hands on the wheel, he looks back down to his phone. He swipes past the plethora of notifications and calls up the latest news from the ferry terminal, trying not to let Thomas see. Not yet.

“It’s easier if you do it in one move,” Thomas says, because nobody has ever successfully hidden a thing from Thomas Jopson, least of all Edward. “Like a plaster.”

Edward chooses not to remind Thomas that he has on several occasions witnessed him very, very slowly peeling a plaster from a healed wound, wincing all the while. He scrolls the page and frowns. Red. Red, red, red, red…

“Don’t be mad, Tom,” he says.

Thomas groans. “How delayed?”

Edward digs around for the thermos in the bag at his feet. “Tomorrow,” he says, then takes a deep breath. “ _If_ we’re lucky.”

Thomas is silent for a long moment. Edward takes the opportunity to pour a fresh, still warm tea into his travel mug, drops a cube of sugar in. He pauses, thoughtfully, and adds another before swirling the mug to help it dissolve.

“Fuck,” says Thomas.

“Yep,” Edward replies. A spray of rainwater smacks down on the sunroof; Edward watches as a large bead of water forms and drips down the back of Thomas’ neck.

“Made you a cuppa?”

***

At least the B & B is nice, and even if it wasn’t _nice_ , and even if it was a little _too far_ from the nearest parking space, Edward thinks, it is very much _dry_. He feels like a lumbering bear in this delicate tea room, dripping all over the green floral carpet whilst Thomas busily charms their way into the nicest room and a promise of a sandwich or two brought up from the kitchen. The proprietor dimples at Thomas’ bright, toothy smile and Edward coughs loudly behind them. The man flicks a glance in Edward’s direction, and then back to Thomas in less than a heartbeat. It’s a punchable face, Edward decides, and growing more so by the second.

“Thank you,” he hears Thomas say, and hefts their bags over his shoulder again. “Up the stairs and-“

“End of the corridor,” says the man behind the reception, and with a wink “Enjoy your stay.”

A small, vicious part of Edward Little, which he’s not entirely proud of, stops feeling guilty about the puddles of grimy water left in his wake as he stomps up the stairs.

Thomas, for his part, falls face down on the bed as soon as they get in. He’d paused only to strip his wet coat off – his feet, dangling off the edge, are still clad in his sodden boots. He makes a muffled screaming sound into the pillow.

Edward dumps the bags on the floor and takes his own coat off to hang next to Thomas’ on the back of the door. He kneels at Thomas’ feet, begins to untie his laces. Thomas peeks at him from underneath one arm, face twisted; Edward would laugh at the melodrama of it, if Thomas didn’t look so utterly, abjectly miserable.

It wasn’t Crozier’s fault of course. He’d tried his best to jolly his one-time junior out of the litany of apologies and explanations that were tumbling from Thomas’ lips when they’d phoned him from the car, Edward’s fingers freezing in the cold air as he held the phone up on speaker. And when that hadn’t worked, he had suggested that he simply call in his presentation to the conference. A great idea, in principle, and Thomas had perked up at the suggestion.

Until, of course, they discovered the wifi situation at the only place with rooms available for miles.

Thomas returns his face to the pillow and sticks his arm out, phone dangling from his fingers. “You tell him,” he says, voice almost entirely swallowed in the bedlinen. “I can’t.”

Edward, finished with the boots, is in the process of peeling Thomas’ wet socks from his feet. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t remember this part of being in love from any of the romcoms he pretends to not enjoy when he’s around anyone but his younger sister. He glances up, checks that Thomas is still not looking, and flicks them towards the bathroom. One of them almost makes it, he thinks, victoriously.

The phone is wiggling in the air. Edward ignores it for a moment, and tugs his own boots off. “Hang on, Tom,” he says.

Thomas shifts over when Edward sits on the bed, rescues the phone from where it’s still dangling loosely. He adjusts the pillow behind his back, and gently pulls Thomas up, so that his head is resting, heavy on Edwards thigh. With one hand, he begins to rub circles into Thomas’ shoulder blades, as the other opens up the recent contacts on Thomas’ phone.

“Tell him not to worry,” is the message that Crozier leaves him with. “There’ll be other conferences.” There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “Am I on speaker?”

“No,” Edward says. Thomas is picking bits off _something_ from Edward’s trousers, and utterly failing to pretend that he’s not paying attention to this conversation. Crozier laughs – as much as he ever laughs - at the other end of the line.

“Not that it makes a difference. Put me on speaker.”

Thomas stills.

“Jopson. I mean it. We’ll organise another event. _I’ll_ organise another event. The work – “

“Is good, I know.” Thomas’ head lifts, just slightly, and there is a tight smile playing on his lips. Edward’s hand wanders up from his shoulders, tucks in against Thomas’ skin under the neckline of his jumper.

“There’ll be other conferences,” Crozier repeats. “You just enjoy an unexpected holiday with your-” Edward stiffens at the inevitable, though to Crozier’s credit, almost imperceptible hesitation, “beau.”

“Yes, sir,” Thomas murmurs. His head sinks back against Edward’s leg as the phone is thumbed off, pushed carelessly onto the bedside table.

“He’s right you know, there will be other times.” Thomas chuckles slightly, his breath warm through the fabric of Edward’s trousers. “It’s not like-“

“This was my first,” Thomas interrupts. Edward’s fingers pause where they are kneading soft patterns into Thomas’ skin. Thomas looks up, eyes bright, and still smiling that tight, tired smile of his. Edward feels his stomach drop three floors. “I didn’t come from the same schools you did, remember? I didn’t… never….” His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “I know it’s daft. Just a stupid conference.” He shrugs a little, the movement brittle, unconvincing. “I was looking forward to it, that’s all.”

“Oh, _love_. Come here.” There’s a brief flurry of movement, and Edward’s further down the bed now, Thomas is further up the bed, and their heads are resting against each other, somewhere in the middle of the headboard.

“It’s not daft,” Edward says. Thomas’ grey-blue eyes cut through him like steel, and Edward almost believes that his desire to see them soften and light again would be strong enough for him to row them across the water himself, ferries be damned.

“I know it’s old hat to you-” Thomas begins; the note of vulnerability in his tone so alien, so unbearable that Edward has to still him, stop him speaking, before he rips his heart in two. He presses a thumb, feather-light against his curved lips.

“I hate the bloody things,” Edward admits, “but that’s me. This was important to you. I’m _sorry_ , Tom.”

“I am too,” Thomas says, against the pad of his thumb, his voice deep and far away. “But it doesn’t-”

Edward kisses him then, hard. “If you were about to say it doesn’t matter,” he growls against Thomas’ lips when they break apart. “I will…” His voice trails off. “Be really unhappy with you.”

Thomas squints at him. “Unhappy.”

“ _Really_ unhappy.”

“Oh, well. That makes a difference.”

Edward kisses him again, and can feel the moment Thomas’ brittleness starts to melt away into the warmer, brighter being that he is most of the time. The rain is still clashing hard against the window, but it feels to Edward like the sun is coming out. “It _does_ matter. This is shit and I’m sorry. You’re _brilliant_ , Thomas Jopson. And you’re going to show it to _everyone._ ”

“Not tomorrow.”

“Not…” Edward starts, sits up so rapidly that Thomas tumbles backwards onto his elbows.

“Ned?”

“Yes tomorrow!” Edward grins at him, and doesn’t care if he looks slightly manic. His hand scrambles backwards against the bedside table, until his fingers close around Thomas’ phone. “Record it! Record it right now, I know you’ve got it prepared. We’ll have time to upload it, even over this.”

Thomas is blinking at him rather owlishly. Edward can’t help but kiss him again.

“Come on, nerd. We’ll send it to Crozier-“

Thomas looks dubious. Edward waves a hand in acquiescence.

“-we’ll send it to Fitzjames, and he’ll put it in.”

Thomas is fully smiling now, all teeth and tongue. He suddenly looks both younger and older than he is, something hopeful, alive, dancing over where there had been just shadows; Edward’s heart is full to bursting at the sight. _I did that_ , he thinks, almost giddy with the thought of it.

“You’re a genius, Ned,” Thomas says. He’s already scooting off the bed, pulling his t-shirt over his head as he heads towards the bathroom. “I need to shower.”

The door slams behind him. Edward laughs and lies back on the bed. He holds the phone above his face and stares at it for a moment.

“Now,” he says to it, “how the fuck do you work?”

***

In the end, Thomas gets a a score of nice comments on Twitter, two new followers and an effusive email from someone named Harry Peglar that Thomas spends entirely too long crafting a reply to, and only sends when Edward flops bodily onto his back and does not get up until Thomas closes the laptop and turns his attention back to the wine and chips Edward has romantically arranged under a plastic lamp on an Ikea desk in their bed and breakfast. Edward’s not a fan of social media, only begrudgingly includes his details on any of his slides, but he could grow to love it for the thrilled look on Thomas’ face whenever his phone pings with a new notification. He doesn’t tell Thomas this, of course, settles for sighing dramatically each time, knowing full well that Thomas isn’t fooled in the slightest by his little one man play.

“You’re too good to me,” Thomas says later, lazily stretching his toes out to poke Edward in the back of his neck. Edward catches his foot, rolls over at the end of the bed to meet Thomas’ warm, amused gaze.

“I know,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> 


End file.
